


Breathless

by TheSoulReader



Series: Bend Me, Shape Me [2]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Master/Pet, Voyeurism, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9430847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoulReader/pseuds/TheSoulReader
Summary: He knows she’s watching them.  Knows that she’s taking in the sight of another man kneeling between his legs, lips wrapped around his cock, while he is bound to a chair by cuff and chain.  And it isn’t because he can locate souls the way she can.  No, it’s because she lets him know, exposing her own presence without shame.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot scene set in the Chains universe. This work can be read as a standalone.

He knows she’s watching them.  Knows that she’s taking in the sight of another man kneeling between his legs, lips wrapped around his cock, while he is bound to a chair by cuff and chain.  And it isn’t because he can locate souls the way she can.  No, it’s because she _lets_ him know, exposing her own presence without shame.

Her wavelength wraps around his, silent and sinful, and he feels the sparks of her attention slipping down his spine.  He can’t hold back his moan, head lolling backwards, bearing his collared neck in offering.  Pointless, because she is not there to mark him, and his companion clearly has no intention of halting his feast to offer him the painful bite he craves.

He can’t decide which sensation he wants to focus on, and there are so very many.  The slightly rough slide of a warm tongue against hardened flesh, the silken invasion of her life force that expands in his chest, the velvet touch of his lover gliding over his abdomen before curling ‘round to the small of his back.

He sees none of it, eyes hidden behind a blindfold.  He hates it and he loves it, punctuating his enjoyment with a loud gasp as he hears a soft voice telling him how good he is.  He can’t decide if it comes from the man between his thighs or the woman who is simultaneously with him and not.

Bliss inducing suction comes to a slow halt, a long lick dragging up the full length of him before the heat is gone.  He whines at the loss, strains weakly against his bonds, though he knows it is pointless.

“You feel her, don’t you, Little Ghost?” a honeyed voice speaks directly into his ear.

“Yes, Master,” he breathes out quietly.

“Do you like knowing that she’s watching us?  Knowing that she’s seen me on my knees for you?”

A low moan is all he can offer in response.

“How does it feel, knowing that she’s here, just out of reach?  That she’ll watch me take my pleasure from you.  That she’ll watch you enjoy it?” the Master questions him, voice dropping low and sultry.

His mouth drops open, trying to form words that won’t come to him.  The weight that settles in his lap does nothing to aid his failing thought processes.  A hard cock that is not his own rolls against his belly and he whines.

“Please…”

He wants to touch him, wants to be touched.  He wants to feel her tongue on his nape and his Master’s fingers deep inside his body.  Wants her fingers to wrap around his dick and stroke him until he can’t stand it anymore, only for her to retreat and start over. 

Such a masochist.

All he is granted is the press of a mouth against his own.  His lips part willingly, a bold tongue taking advantage and sweeping inside to lick the roof his mouth, the backs of his teeth.  He pants against thin lips, melts into his bonds instead of struggling against them as he’s offered this one small comfort.

He cries out against a collarbone when the head of his dick is suddenly engulfed in near unbearable tightness.  A violent shiver courses through him, plaintive whines spilling from his lungs as he tries to steady and slow the beat of his thundering heart.  The flare of arousal that envelops him lets him know that she sees.  She sees his Master lowering himself onto his unwavering hardness.  Sees him desperate and wanton and weak willed.

“Master…” a tear slips from beneath his blindfold, though he is not in pain.  Even so, he knows the inquiry is coming before it is asked.  He waits anyway, because it is not his place to answer before he is questioned.

“Color?”

“Green, Sir.”

“Good boy,” the other male sighs, raising and lowering himself in his captive’s lap.  He constricts around his cock as he draws himself upwards, relaxing his muscles as he drops back down, revels in the desperate hitches of breath that puff against his throat.

“Can you feel that, Little Ghost?  How much she enjoys watching us?”

He can.  It’s impossible not to feel it, her wavelength pulsing and dipping, breathing excitement, undeniable and electric.  It almost conflicts with the slow pace of the male that rides him, his movements calculated and slow, oddly tender.

A low rumble echoes in his chest, slowly bleeding away to soft grunts and inhalations of breath.  He can’t offer any thrusts of his own with the way he’s been restrained, forced to simply take it as he’s ridden like an animal.

“Fuck…” the curse slips from him, unbidden.

“Mmm, that is what we’re doing, yes,” the Master mouths against his collar. “I’m so full, Little Ghost.  You make me feel so very full.  Splitting me wide open, so, so good.”

The muscles of his abdomen flutter, the initial beginnings of an impending orgasm.  He isn’t allowed to come without permission, and he can’t afford to ruin the momentum that’s building.  He’s unsure, pushing back gently at the distant soul entangling with his own before he calls out a quiet, “Yellow.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Master responds easily, hips slowing, but not stopping.  He swivels his pelvis in a slow grind, even as his Little Ghost speaks.

“I n-need to come.  I don’t…don’t want to be…”

Gentle fingers weave their way into moonlit strands, petting, but not pulling.  Kisses are placed along a strong jaw, fingers grazing over hard nipples as he begins rutting against his pet, sighing into his skin, “Come when you want to.  No penalties this time.”

“Sir?”

“It’s alright,” he whispers against his hairline, fingers scratching at his nape. “I know this is hard for you.  Come when you want to.  It’s ok.”

_It’s ok._

He’s not sure if that voice is in his own head or carried on a sweet soul wavelength that wants him to find his end.  Wants him to know that he looks beautiful, especially while covered in hard earned bruises, and mottled pink bite marks.  They’re all bleeding into each other, and he feels his heart swelling with a combination of love and pride, head falling back as his Master begins moving over him again.

He’s pretty sure his cock is being sucked in by the hole that constricts around him, ripples over him, teases him mercilessly.  The tips of his ears burn red as he tries to picture his distant lover, spread out on their shared bed, a hand between her legs.  Kiss swollen lips pull back to reveal the sharp points of his teeth as that focus turns to the male bouncing in his lap, wondering what his face must look like right now.

Probably as fucked out as he feels.  Because he _knows_.  He’s seen that face before, pink tongue held between blunt teeth, eyes glassy and lust blown, obsidian hair stuck to his forehead with beads of sweat.  He’s beautiful like that.

“You can’t even see me right now,” comes the breathless laugh.

“But she can.”

And then their lips are crushed together, tongues twisting and licking, teeth nipping, moans melting together in one long note of joyous pleasure.  His Master is whining, actually _whining_ into his mouth as he bucks and grinds into his pet’s crotch, his belly.  He can feel the knuckles of his hand knocking against his abs as a fist flies over his cock, the thick length buried in him nudging at his prostate.

And the captive man, rendered immobile by his bindings, can do nothing but tense and relax his thighs, feeling his balls, heavy and desperate for release, tightening in preparation to do just that.

_Do it, do it, do it…_

A small voice reverberates in the recesses of his mind.

_So pretty. So lovely.  So good._

“A-ah…hnng, aahhha!” he cries into a slender throat, cock throbbing, pulsing within his Master and coating his insides with white.

He’s still being ridden, feels the slick slide of a precome soaked dick against his still twitching body.  It hurts, it hurts, it _hurts_ , but it’s so goddamn exquisite.  And then strong muscles clamp down around him in a painful vice grip, fingernails biting into his shoulder blades as he yowls into open air.  A matching pulse rolls through his body through the connection he’s been sharing, setting his nerve endings ablaze one last time before he slumps forward, spent.

Chest heaving and tense muscles sore, he’s coaxed into awareness by soothing digits stroking his cheekbones before pushing his blindfold up and away.  He’s met with a gaze of gold that is both concerned and fond, a tired smile being offered to assuage any concerns.  Master only needs to reach behind him to release his hands from the leather cuffs, and the moment he is free, thick arms encircle a narrow waist.

“Are you alright, my Ghost?”

They’re both shivering with aftershocks and his connection with their voyeur tingles in much the same manner.  He swears he can taste colors.

A gentle nuzzle beneath Master’s pointed chin lets him know that his charge is ok.  He allows the intimacy for a few moments longer before removing himself and hastily unshackling chained legs.  He doesn’t need to tell his lover to stay still.  It isn’t a matter of obedience, just a lesson that has long since been learned.  It is pointless trying to stand after having one’s legs bound for an extended period of time.  You only ended up crumpled in a heap on the floor.

A soft knock on the door comes a few minutes past post-coital bliss, Master bidding them entrance.

“Maka,” the chair-bound male smiles, dopey and exhausted.

She smiles back, hair cascading over a shoulder as she tips her head a little.  A bowl of warm water, a towel, and a bottle of oil are held in her hands.  He knows what all those things are for and suspects she has just come in to give them to Master.  He is surprised when she kneels at his feet and the pair of them begin washing his feet in the bowl, massaging his calves with oil.

Juniper.  He loves Juniper.

Kid is massaging his wrists, oil being worked into slightly chafed skin.  A noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh escapes the weapon.  He is wholly content.

“Was it ok?” a feminine voice reaches his ears.

“Mmm?”

“My watching, did it bother you?”

“No,” he says honestly.  “It…excited me.  I wasn’t expecting to like it so much.”

The first time Maka had watched him with Kid had been hard on him.  He was afraid and ashamed of it, too insecure to understand why she would want to see that.  They’d all made it through, but Kid had had to spend several hours with him afterwards to set him right.  The drop he had experienced was new, it scared him.  He understood how lucky he was to have someone that could work him through it.

Knowing she had been there but not having her in the same room had relieved some of the pressure.  Maka’s presence was a heavy thing.  It was very rarely unwelcome, but under certain circumstances it was a stressor. 

Velvet lips against his fingertips pull him from his reverie and he finds himself staring into sunlight again.

“You did well, Soul.  I’m proud of you.”

These words are spoken after every scene, without fail.  He always knows he’s been good, that he isn’t a disappointment, he’s not a failure.  He knows he is treasured and it makes him euphoric.

“Tired,” is the only word he’s able to manage at this juncture.  He’s crashing, but it is exhaustion pulling him under.  Nothing sinister is coming for him this time.

His meisters help him stand on legs that are shaky but cramp free, thanks to their dutiful care, and they meander their way down the hall to the master bedroom, collapsing in a tangle of limbs that is quickly sorted.  Maka strips down, throwing her clothes off to the side for the time being before huddling into Kid’s left side while Soul mirrors the action on his right.

Sleep settles over the trio like a warm blanket, and as Soul drifts off, nose buried in raven hair, he knows that he is home.


End file.
